Bulma's Hard Day
by TennisPirate
Summary: Sucky title, I know. Bulma is having a rough day, and her family and friends are only making it worse. Will she survive, or will she be torn to pieces by all the stress? Rated for language and some adultish themes.
1. Earthquakes

_Hey everybody! This is my third DBZ fanfic attempt — the other two failed miserably — but they say the third time's a charm! Well, I hope so. Anyway, I wanted to make a note here so that people don't get all on my case about it. I don't know exactly how Capsule Corps. works — that is, I think Bulma and family live in the same place Bulma works in — but I put Bulma's lab and office in a completely different building. The Briefs (according to me) live in a normal house like everyone else. Well, it's a comparatively nicer house than everyone else's, since they are rich. Yeah. Oh, and just so you're not wondering: Trunks is 17, Bra is 12, Pan is 12, Goten is 16, and all the adults are wicked old. XD_

_Disclaimer: I disclaim all rights to DBZ._

oOo

1. Earthquakes

"What do you mean the tests haven't come back yet!" cried Bulma. "I need those tests _today_!" She slammed her fist onto her desk in frustration. "We won't be able to do any more experimenting until they get here!" She turned to look at the lab assistant who had brought the news. He was cowering in the doorway of her office; Bulma relaxed slightly, but inside she was still fuming. "When can I expect them?" she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Uh," stammered the assistant, "w-well, they said they could possibly have them in by Monday…"

"Damn," hissed Bulma. There was an uncomfortable silence, interrupted only by the sound of a jackhammer in the parking lot outside. After about a minute's worth of irritating buzzing, Bulma touched her temple and groaned. "Thanks, David," she said, finally. "I guess I can wait three more days…" David breathed an audible sigh of relief and ducked out of the office. Bulma could hear his footsteps echoing down the hall as he raced to the stairs.

She turned back to her desk where she was faced with an enormous pile of paperwork. She sighed as she listened to the hum of the construction work outside. "It's gonna be a long day," she muttered.

oOo

Three hours later, Bulma stuck one last piece of paper into a manila folder that she then shoved into a filing drawer behind her. She slammed it shut and glanced at the clock. It was a quarter to three. _Good,_ she thought to herself. _I've got time to pick Bra up from school._ She pushed her chair back, grabbed her purse and briefcase, and left her office, feeling slightly less weighed-down.

However, Bulma's afternoon was going to be far from pleasant. As she exited Capsule Corps. and stepped out onto the black top of the parking lot, she was met with an earsplitting drum of jackhammers and power tools working on the sidewalk. To get to her car, she was forced to walk right alongside the noise for five minutes, after which time she was thoroughly aggravated. When she finally reached her silver Mercedes, she found to her dismay that her meter had run out half an hour ago, and a small yellow slip of paper was poking out at her from behind her windshield wiper. She snatched it up without even looking at it and shoved it into her pocket. She hit the "unlock" button on her keys, opened the driver's door, and slid inside.

Bulma pulled out of the parking lot and turned on the radio. She flipped through every channel she got, but none of them was playing any kind of music. With a groan, she shut it off as she got onto the highway. She hadn't been driving for more than five minutes when a red Ferrari shot by her in the right lane. She hunched her shoulders slightly and scowled at the back of the car, but, not ten seconds later, a yellow Mustang passed her on the left and accelerated to catch up to the red car. Bulma sighed. _Road rage,_ she thought. _Happens to the best of them. Ah, well, they'll be gone in a few seconds…_

Unfortunately, before they could disappear from the vicinity, the yellow car caught up to the red car and threatened to pass it. The Ferrari swerved to the right to block it off, and the Mustang crashed right into it. Both cars skidded to a halt across the road, blocking all three lanes of traffic. Bulma had to slam on her brakes to avoid hitting them, as did all the vehicles around her. Alarmed, she grabbed her cell phone and started to dial 911. Just then, though, the drivers of the cars got out. They were two college kids, and they were laughing and high-fiveing each other. Apart from being a little discombobulated, neither appeared to be hurt in any way.

Bulma glowered at them. There was no way anyone was going to move until the tow trucks got there, and who knew how long that could take? Resignedly, she shut off her car and put her head on the steering wheel.

oOo

At long last, Bulma pulled wearily into the driveway. The lack of cars in the garage indicated that Vegeta was the only one home. She shut off her car and stepped out. To her horror, she discovered a six-foot scratch in the silver paint on one side of the Mercedes. In her frustration at the parking ticket, she hadn't even noticed it! Too tired to really care, though, she made a mental note to take it to the garage, and she made her way inside.

It was almost four o' clock. Bulma came into the kitchen and glanced at the answering machine. There were six unheard messages. _I'll listen to them later,_ she thought. She went upstairs, passing the gravity room on the way. As she had expected, she could hear her husband training inside. In her own bedroom, she changed into some more comfortable clothes then came back downstairs to start dinner.

She pulled a large chicken out of the refrigerator and turned on the oven. As she was getting out some spices to season it with, the front door banged open and shut, and Trunks sauntered into the kitchen.

"Hi, Trunks," Bulma called to him. Trunks ignored her, and, dropping a pile of crumpled yellow papers onto the counter, he headed for the living room.

"Hold it," said his mother, putting the chicken aside for a moment to examine the papers. "What are all these?" she asked, suspicious. She smoothed one out and read it quickly. Her eyes grew wide. "Speeding tickets?" she demanded. Trunks yawned. Bulma riffled through the rest of the papers. "_Five_!"

Trunks looked up at her, almost annoyed. "What?" he drawled. "It's not like you can't afford them…"

Bulma blinked in surprise. "Me? Trunks, I'm not paying for—"

But the teenager had already retired to the living room and was flopped lazily on the couch with the TV blaring in front of him. Bulma made to go after him, but just as she started to move, the video phone started to ring off the hook. She hesitated for a moment, considering her options, then chose the phone. She could deal with Trunks later.

"Accept call," said Bulma to the phone. The screen blinked to life, and Bulma was presented with a picture of a dark-haired woman, smiling brightly.

"Bulma!" cried Chi Chi. "Great, you're there! Listen, I need to ask a favor."

"Sure, Chi, what's up?" Bulma tried not to sound as tired as she was.

"Well, we've been having some problems over here with the electricity. Yesterday it was the television, the day before that it was the phone lines, the day before that it was the lighting… The electrician said he'd be over two days ago, but so far nobody's shown—"

"Chi Chi, what do you need?"

Chi Chi grinned apologetically. "It's the stove. All our cooking appliances are busted, in fact. I had to throw everything out of the fridge. There's nothing to cook; it looks like the family and I are gonna be eating over your place tonight."

Bulma could feel her jaw drop slightly. "You're joking, Chi!"

Her friend frowned. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"I just don't think—" Bulma started, but she was interrupted when the other phone, the cordless, started to ring loudly. She checked the caller ID. It was Bra. It suddenly dawned on her that she had never picked her daughter up from school! "Chi Chi, I'm gonna have to call you back," she said hurriedly. "It's Bra, I forgot to pick her up..."

"Oh, no need to call back," said Chi Chi happily. "It's all worked out, isn't it? We'll be over at seven. See you then!" With that, the screen went blank. Bulma stared at it for a moment before the cordless rang again. She hit the "talk" button and held the phone to her ear.

"Hello?"

"_Mommyyyy_!"

Bulma nearly dropped the phone at her daughter's earsplitting wail. "Bra, honey," she began. "I'm sorry I didn't pick you up, it's just that I got caught in traffic, and I forgot—"

"You _forgot_ about me, Mommy! I was here all alone! Nobody could give me a ride, and I've just been sitting here and sitting here! I could have been raped, or killed, or… or even _mugged_!" Bra was obviously in tears and sounded absolutely pitiful over the phone.

Bulma sighed. "Look, sweetheart, I don't think I can pick you up right now. I've got to go out to the store and get food for dinner. The Sons are coming over, and—"

Bra sniffed. "I didn't know that," she said.

"We kind of just made plans…"

"Well, I can't just _stay_ here!" cried Bra.

"You're only a few miles away, honey," said Bulma. "Can't you walk home? It would be so much easier—"

But Bra would have none of that. "_Noooooo_!" she wailed. "Mommy, what if something happened to me? It's gonna be dark soon, and all the crooks come out at night…"

"Bra, it's four o' clock…"

"…And besides, I just bought these shoes, and they're not made for walking! I'll wear them out or twist an ankle or something, and then I'd be lying on the side of the road, completely helpless, with nobody around, and what if my phone runs out of batteries, and I can't call for help, and, _ohhhhh_, Mommy, please don't make me walk!" Bra started to bawl over the phone, and Bulma winced.

"Okay, Bra, okay," Bulma said finally. "I guess I can come pick you up. I'll be there in ten minutes."

Just like that, Bra stopped crying. "Okay, Mommy, thanks!" she said cheerfully. "Oh, and Mommy?"

"Yes, Bra?"

"You really shouldn't invite people over at the last minute like that. You know, in case something like this happens. Okay, bye!"

Bra hung up, and Bulma was left with several thoughts running through her head. "I didn't invite them!" she snapped at the dead receiver. She hung up the phone almost violently and, on a hunch, played back the messages on the answering machine. Sure enough, each one was from Bra. She deleted them, shut off the oven, grabbed her keys and headed for the door. She passed Trunks in the living room. "I'm picking up your sister," she informed him. "I'll deal with you when I get back!"

Trunks only scoffed. Bulma turned on her heel and left the house, slamming the door behind her.

oOo

_Okay, that's it for chapter one! Tell me if you like it. Lots of reviews, please! _

_- I am the Tennis Pirate._


	2. Tsunamis

_Okay, everyone kill me now. SORRY it took so long to update! I've been wicked busy with school, tennis and choir, and I haven't had more than twenty minutes to myself since summer ended. So, I have finally gotten a chance to write! Thanks to the reviewers. Here are my responses:_

_Strudel: Yeah, it's kind of supposed to be depressing. This story is all the bad things that could possibly happen to you summed up and stuffed into a single day. Glad you like it!_

_Me2U: Thank you._

_Warrior: Trunks is usually my favorite character, but in this story, there is no room for the caring and compassionate, so I made him the stereotypical, self-absorbed teenager._

_**Anyone who has not read Chapter One since I updated, I changed a few things, so you might want to read it over again.**_

_If I owned DBZ, I would make the series fit on a DVD so I could watch it whenever I wanted, but I don't, so I won't._

oOo

2. Tsunamis

Bulma pulled into the Orange Star Middle School parking lot at four-thirty. She looked around for her daughter, but the girl was nowhere in sight. The only people Bulma could see were what looked like the members of some shady high-school gang, dressed all in black, smoking behind a dumpster. Bulma noticed one kid in particular had dyed his hair some shade of blue or pink; it was difficult to tell from her distance. Their heads turned as she parked her car, but apart from that they didn't seem to take any notice, and they went back to whatever it was they were doing.

Bulma made her way to the front of the school and pushed the heavy doors open. It had been so long since she had been inside a school, and the unique smell of an educational building roused up some pleasant memories of her grade-school days. Feeling just a little happier, she strode down a long hallway, but her mood faded when she found her daughter. The girl was sitting on a bench next to some other girl Bulma didn't recognize. Both of them stood up as Bulma approached them.

"Bra," she called, frowning slightly, "I thought you said nobody else was here?"

The girl shook her head, her blue ponytail bobbing violently behind her as she did so. "I said no one could give me a _ride_," she clarified. "This is Amy Peters." Her friend stepped forward. She had long, straight, blonde hair, and she was wearing a small pink tee that showed a little more skin than Bulma was interested in seeing. Amy smiled politely as Bra continued. "Her mom works at Capsule Corps, too," she was saying. "Do you know her?"

Bulma shook her head. She turned to head back to the car. Her daughter and Amy followed behind.

"Anyway," Bra went on as they walked, "her mom is doing this project on how kids act around each other, and Amy took some pictures today, and she was supposed to email them to her at, like, lunch or something, but the computer lab was closed, and they wouldn't even let us in, so then we tried to just mail them but the guy said it might take a whole _day_ to get there, which is totally crazy, I mean, it's right across town, so—"

Bulma cut her off. "Bra, we kind of need to get home…"

Bra cut to the chase. "I told her you worked there, so we could bring her and she could drop off the pictures at her mom's office."

Amy smiled. "It's really nice of you to give me a ride, Mrs. B," she said sweetly.

Bulma opened her mouth to say something as they arrived at the Mercedes, but she wasn't sure which to object to first—the fact that these girls were asking her to drive twenty minutes out of her way, or the fact that some girl she had just met was calling her "Mrs. B." Bra, however, took her hesitation as compliance.

"Great!" she said, hopping into the passenger seat. "Amy, you can sit in the back."

Bulma snapped out of her brief meditation. "Hold it," she said. "Bra, I'm not driving all the way over to Capsule Corps! It's on the other side of town!"

Bra made a pouty face, and Bulma prepared herself for tears as she climbed through the driver's door, but then Amy spoke up from the back seat.

"Mrs. B, I can just fax them to her," she said confidently. "There's a Kinko's, like, right around the street!"

Bulma craned her neck to look behind. "I don't know of any Kinko's around here," she said somewhat skeptically.

The girl nodded fervently. "There is, I swear," she contested. "I can show you where it is. It'll take, like two seconds."

Bulma looked from Amy to her daughter, and back to Amy again. Finally, she heaved a sigh. "All right," she agreed. "I guess if it's not too far…"

Amy squeaked with glee. "Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. B!" she cried as Bulma put the car in gear. "This is really important to my mom. She'll be really grateful to you!"

Bulma didn't say anything; she drove in silence out of the parking lot, noticing that the gang she had spotted earlier was no longer there. Amy guided her through a neighborhood she didn't recognize, calling out, "Left here!" or, "Right at that stop sign!" whenever she needed to turn. Bulma was just starting to wonder how long this would take when they emerged on the other side. She recognized this suddenly as the road she took to get onto a major freeway.

"Turn left here," Amy instructed from the back seat.

Bulma frowned. _Left?_ she wondered. _That'll take me onto the highway..._ "Are you sure?" she asked.

Amy nodded. "Yeah," she said. "It's right around the corner!"

The woman shrugged. "Okay." _I've never seen a Kinko's around here, but then again, I never pay too much attention._ Bulma approached the light and obligingly turned left.

As soon as she had completed the turn, however, Amy shrieked, "Right! I meant turn right!"

Bulma started and looked behind her. Sure enough, drifting farther and farther away, a green "Kinko's" sign blared up in front of a small white building. She cursed in her head and turned back to the road. "I'll have to find somewhere to turn around," she thought out loud.

Unfortunately for Bulma, she had just turned onto the entrance of the highway. She cursed again, silently, and accelerated. She'd just find an exit that took her back the way she had come. As they entered the freeway, Bra noticed a sign on the side of the road. "Look, Mom," she said. "A service station! You can turn around there!"

Bulma checked the sign. "Service station," it read. "Next exit: 20 mi." Bulma groaned. _Here we go again…._

oOo

When the three finally arrived at Kinko's, it was nearing five-thirty. Amy hopped out of the car and ran into the shop. When she came back out a few minutes later, she was frowning. "They don't fax," she said unhappily. "We'll just have to go—"

"I'm not going all the way to Capsule Corps," Bulma maintained. "You'll just have to give your mom the pictures when she gets home."

"But, Mrs. B, it would mean so much if—"

"I'm taking you HOME, Amy!" Bulma's voice grew to a level where even Amy knew it was time to shut up. She shrank back into the seat and didn't say one word all the way to her house. Bra even had to give the directions.

Luckily, Amy didn't live too far away. Bulma dropped the girl off and headed for home.

Once they got back, Bulma headed for the chicken, which she had left on the counter. She stuffed it in the oven as Vegeta entered the kitchen. He wore a towel draped around his neck, and sweat was gleaming on his face and bare chest. He filled up a huge glass of water and downed it in one gulp.

"Veg," said Bulma as she set a covered pot of water to boil on the stove. "Have you seen Trunks? He came home with five speeding tickets, and I wanted to talk to him about it."

Vegeta opened the door to the refrigerator and rummaged around for a snack. "He went out," he said, his voice muffled. "Went to a friend's or something."

Bulma glared at him. "You let him go?" she snapped. "Vegeta, I wasn't going to let him drive for at least a few weeks!"

The man straightened up and frowned, a coca-cola in one hand and a huge slice of cheesecake in the other. "How was I supposed to know that, woman?"

Bulma started to speak, but she let it go. She turned back to the stove and shook some salt into the steaming pot. As she was replacing the lid, something caught her eye out of the window in front of her. She looked out onto the street and saw a black pick-up truck speed by, closely followed by a Lincoln and a Volkswagen. She glared at them as they passed, as if to send negative waves in their direction, and she put her head out the window to take the license plate numbers. To her shock and horror, the license plate on the back of the truck read, "SJN-WAR." It was Trunks' license plate, and therefore, Trunks' truck.

Before she really knew what she was doing, Bulma was in her Mercedes and backing out of the driveway. She floored it and flew down the street in pursuit of the racers. She followed at a distance, not wanting them to speed up to avoid her, so it made it difficult to see where to go. At times, she thought she had lost them, but then they would emerge from an alleyway up ahead, and the chase would resume. They led her through winding streets, down hills, over bridges and under tunnels. The truck ventured off-road now and then, and Bulma bit her lip in anxiety. Amid her fuming, she was praying that none of them would get hurt.

Suddenly, the three cars took a turn Bulma didn't see and zoomed down into a gulley. She had to take the long way around, which entailed driving for another minute then slowly curving down a dirt road.

When she finally caught up to them, they had all parked their cars and were standing on the side of the road laughing. It turned out that there were more than just three of them; there were actually about six or seven, and together they looked like some kind of street gang. Bulma pulled over, got out, and slammed her door behind her. Trunks looked up and saw her. He said something under his breath, and his friends glanced Bulma's way. She was storming over to the trio, a look of total enragement spreading over her face.

She marched up to her son and looked up into his apathetic face. He stood a head taller than she, but at present, she was in no mood to be intimidated by him. "What the HELL?" she screeched at him, making him veer back slightly to protect his hearing. "Have you got any common sense whatsoever in that thick, purple head of yours?"

Trunks cocked his head and rolled his eyes at his friends, which only served to further enrage his mother.

"You could get yourself _killed_ driving that way! And after five speeding tickets, I'm not so sure I want you driving _at all_ until I think you've learned a little responsibility!"

Trunk scoffed. "Really?" he drawled. "Don't you think you're being a little hypocritical?"

His mother glared at him. "What does that mean?"

Trunks said nothing, but cast a sidelong look at the silver Mercedes parked on the side of the road.

Bulma's eyes narrowed. "What?" she asked. No one answered. "What's wrong with my car?"

She moved cautiously over to it, a knot of anxiety rising in her stomach. She couldn't see anything wrong with it… that is, until she came around to the other side. When she did, her jaw dropped nearly out of her skull.

oOo

_Ha ha ha. It isn't really a cliffhanger, unless damage to expensive cars puts you on the edge of your seat… In any case, lots of reviews, please! Oh, and if it doesn't seem PG-13 yet, wait until the next chapter. Maybe that will cliff-hang you. Oo_

_- I am the Tennis Pirate_


End file.
